


Audition

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Babybones, Dadster, Dark Comedy, Fluff, Gen, gaster is a fantastic parent but a hideous person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Papyrus has a very special audition, and his doting father is here to shout down any competition





	

**Author's Note:**

> dadster! something a little different 
> 
> word of warning, gaster shouts at little kids until they cry, so if this wigs you out i'm letting you know!

 

The theatre was dark, with dozens of cheap plastic chairs cluttering the middle as the low hubbub of the children burbled from behind the curtain. To the left of a stage was a piano and on it, a stern women reviewing sheet music, licking her finger to scan the pages one last time. The crowd was made up of some plebs Gaster didn’t care about, Dr. Gaster, the Royal Scientist himself, and his eldest son Sans, who sat there both to support his emotions and to act as a guard dog that would stop Gaster from saying anything regretful.

The hubbub settled and a teacher walked onto centre stage to thank the parents for attending this informal audition. It was good for self esteem, for motor skills, building passions. Gaster nodded in agreement. She blanched when her eyes locked with his, like she was staring at an oncoming train that happened to be filled with dynamite. Pleasantries out of the way, she excused herself as the first boy waddled on to perform. He looked like a mollusc, with a ‘hand’ peeking out from his soft, transparent shell. Onstage, under the light, he looked like a barnacle plastered to the hull of a great ship.  

Gaster leaned towards his son, grateful for his position in the back row.

“Do you have any garlic butter on hand?”  

Sans choked back a laugh, scolded himself, and elbowed his father in an attempt to keep the night on track.

“You only do that when you find me funny,” he said, giving Sans an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

This was it. His big moment. His chance to shine.

Taking a deep breath the boy did a handstand, fell forward, clattered his shell against the wood and burst into tears as he ran offstage, his parents rising from their chairs to console him.  

“They’re starting off strong, I see.”

“you gotta admit,” Sans whispered back, “the handstand? that was cute.”

“When I encounter a handstand-related emergency, I do hope I can recall his name.”  

Just offstage, Gaster saw the teacher and her assistant talking, gesturing hurriedly and throwing him glances. He waved when they noticed that he was watching, and this moved their gestures from ‘quick’ to ‘panicked’. Despite not being next alphabetically, Papyrus was shoved onstage, toddling to the middle to speak into the low microphone.

“HI.”

The bulk of the crowd said ‘hello’ in response, fawning over how cute he was. Chubby bones, untied shoelaces, and a backwards cap.

“UM… UH…”

Gaster was silent as he looked on, filled with quiet expectation and above all, pride. Papyrus saw this, and even if he couldn’t put together the intricacies of why it made him feel better, he did. Haltingly, he started.

“H-HOT… CROSS… BUNS…”

He rocked on his heels, as if thinking on what to eat.

“HOT CROSS BUNS…”

Doing well. Naturally, of course.

“ONE… A PENNY? ONE A PENNY. TWO A PENNY. FIVE.”

Oh. Oh, Gaster… Assumed he would remember. Oh no.

“FIVE PENNIES. FIVE BUNS.”

Papyrus bowed, his act over, and while some of the crowd fractured into unsure applause Gaster clapped as if he wanted to snap his hands in half.

Papyrus shifted on his feet at the sight of his father before walking off to the left of the stage, being gently picked up and turned around by a nearby teacher and walking off to stage right, the correct side.

“So talented,” Gaster cooed, and Sans found nothing to dispute. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

Sans looked to his face and found his expression to be as austere as it always was with only the faint crinkle of his eyes betraying his delight.

“you aren’t crying.”

“I know; I’m not a child.”

Sans rolled his eyes, shifting on his seat, watching Papyrus become distracted from his place in the sidelines and spin slowly for his own amusement.

“Ah, how lovely. Time to go.”

“no.”

“But I don’t care about the other children.”

“the other parents watched pap.”

“Of course they did; look at him, then look at them. And then keep looking at him, I bought him a new hat.”

Sans grabbed him by the sleeve of his cloak, taking just as firm a stance as his father but with less petulance overall.

“dad.”

Dammit, that always worked.

“God, fine. I spoil you.”

Sulking, Gaster sat with his hands crossed politely in his lap while Sans breathed a sigh of relief. All he had to do was sit still, and sit quietly, to avoid a repeat of Papyrus’ last audition.

A little girl, dewy eyed and innocent, waddled her way onto the stage to look out over the crowd.

“My name,” she said, “is--”

Gaster didn’t care.

“You _talentless pisschild!_ ”

Oh God.

Sans shot him a look that could melt rock, and Gaster played it off successfully as an especially violent sneeze.

Unperturbed, she started.

“Alouette, gentille Alouette--”

… Was that _French?_ A nursery rhyme in a different language is like a concentrated talent nuke (even if her pronunciation was off, the little idiot) in the world of under-five auditions to feckless parents. Gaster pinched between his eyes. He was a fool to think Papyrus could astound them with hot cross buns. He should have just let him summon a bone and blow up half the stage in a light show, but someone had to beg him not to, Sans. Apparently it’s bad form to encourage rampant destruction in your child, and yet everyone seemed rather content to witness this murder on stage.

Sans glanced wearily to his father, able to follow his thought process to the tee. He leaned in to mumble, so as not to disturb the girl.

“if he doesn’t get the part; he doesn’t get the part. he gave it his best.”

“Exactly. He should get it,” Gaster responded, sour and loud enough to be heard.

“it’s for jack and the beanstalk. jack and the beanstalk.”

“The simplicity of the production doesn’t negate the fact that he would be very good at it. And you weren’t complaining when you played the Virgin Mary in the nativity.”

“i did. loudly.”

“Nonsense; you suit blue.”  

She sang on, confident and happy, little cow-ears flopping gently to and fro as she swayed in innocent joy.

“Je te plumerai les yeux--”

“she’s adorable,” Sans interjected.  

“I know,” Gaster snipped back, “rosy-cheeked, floppy eared, uncynical. I hope a stage light falls and kills her.”

“ _gaster._ ”

“I’m just being honest.”

Sans pinched the bridge of his nasal bone, muttering.

“Do you know what the song is about? About plucking the feathers out of a living skylark. Now, I don’t approve of my children singing about torturing animals, but I just happen to _love_ my sons.”

She moved to deal a devastating blow to Papyrus’ chances.

With a tottering hop and a skip, she successfully cartwheeled and melted the hearts of everyone in the audience. This could not stand. With a paternal fury, Gaster leapt to his feet.

“I’ll skin you and use you as rags before I let you upstage my son!”

Sans held his head in his hands. Every time. Every time, this happened, and every time Gaster would be allowed to attend because of his rank. Every time. And, like last time, the crowd of parents were rousing to attack him. Wearily, Sans turned to his father.

“gaster. sit down.”

“Not now son, I’m securing Papyrus’ part as lead. You! Yes, you! Child!”

She looked at him, shifting on her feet, tears beading her eyes.

_“Give up now, it’s not going to get any better for you!”_

Look at her. Crying. Unable to handle constructive criticism. An awful trait for a child. From the front, the woman waiting at the piano stood.  

“For God’s sakes Dr., you’re upsetting the children!”

“I know who I’m upsetting you vacuous troglodyte, if they all stopped being so terrible then perhaps I would stop!”

The crowd encroached, and Gaster’s verbal diarrhoea was in full splatter.

“Oh yes, defend your putrid womb-slime! Feel better about yourselves! About your mistakes! Every one of my individual, scraped-from-a-petri-dish spermatozoa couldn’t just beat you intellectually, probably physically too!”  

Sans watched grimly as history repeated itself, and the furious, burgeoning crowd moved to encircle them.

“gaster. gaster, don’t tear your shirt off. we talked about this.”

“It’s too late, son! It’s too late! The top two buttons are gone, and the wheels are in motion!”

Gaster struggled to tear off the remainder of the fabric while Sans prayed to melt into the earth. Papyrus was on stage twirling in place and thinking about the coloured lights.

“Your overindulged discharge, your rancid mooncalves can’t hold a candle to _my_ son! Tell your pustulant genital _cast-offs_ to soak up any sympathy applause, they will be hearing it forever!”

One of the parents, a tall, hulking woman measuring in at over twelve feet, rose to her full height. She was bovine in form, hooves apart and bulk taut.

“Tone it down,” she warned, not needing to raise her voice.

“You tone it down! What are you going to do, _milk_ at me?”

Sans could see what was about to occur, as well as Gaster’s need to have the last word outweighing his survival instincts, and calmly cleared the area, moving to the outskirts of the chairs to watch the carnage with resignation and hoping the brawl wouldn’t kill his father. Or at least make the pieces easy to retrieve. Judging from the size of the woman looming over him, the second option was not a feasible one.

“Oh, give it your best--!”

She swung halfheartedly, not wanting to punt his skull from his spine, and Gaster was knocked unconscious with a single, brutal blow. Papyrus waved from his place on stage as one of the teaching assistants ushered him away from the carnage.

“BYE-BYE, PAPA!”

* * *

 

The room was dark, the night was cold, the television was casting a dull, desaturated light on the living room, and Gaster held a compress to what he hoped was simply a headache rather than his brain stem detaching and roaming his skull.

“Ouch.”

Sans was sat at his feet and gave him a hefty thud that smacked with ‘I told you so.’  

“yup.”

“Some sympathy wouldn’t go amiss.”

Scooting up, damp cloth in hand, Sans huffed in exasperation.

“gaster… have you… ever won a physical fight?”

“The important thing, my son,” Gaster said sagely, using his years to impress upon Sans an air of wisdom, “is that you try. The winning counts for little.”

“that’s a ‘no’.”

“You are correct. Now shut up and help your father check if he has all of his teeth.”

Gaster peeled back his lips, the light from the television glinting off his teeth, prominent and slightly misshapen against the dark flesh.

“y’know your canine?”

Gaster sighed, the damage not as bad as he had feared.

“everything around it is gone. to tell you the tooth, i’m surprised it’s even still in there.”

Gaster laughed before cradling his swollen jaw.

“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts to move.”

“shit. if only that could have been avoided, huh?”

“Don’t swear,” Gaster sulked, “it’s the sign of a poor vocabulary.”  

Sans looked at him, brows raised.

“... They will all grow back. This is not the first time I have been punched in the face.”

“even if i hadn’t seen it, i’d have guessed as much.”

“Someone is impertinent today. You aren’t even thirteen yet. Getting the angsting in early, I presume?”

Sans laughed despite himself, voice creaking with adolescence.

“No, that’s not how you do it. You can’t sulk and laugh at the same time, Sans. You’re supposed to be sullen and torpid. And wear stupid clothes.”

“c’mon--”

“Set a few fires or something; I haven’t been keeping up with the trends--”

“did you not think making a scene would hurt pap’s chances?”

Gaster was quiet. He looked to Sans, his son, whom he loved more than anything in the world. Smart, irritating Sans.

“I just wanted everyone else to see how darling he was.”

“by shouting at little kids?”

“I wanted people to see _urgently_.”

Sans went to argue this point, when they were both cut off by the sound of Papyrus padding into the room. Any argument brewing was quashed as he waddled over, before being scooped up by Gaster to sit comfortably between them.

“HELLO.”

“Hello, son,” he cooed.

“HELLO.”

“You have already greeted me.”

“I WANTED TO BE SURE. HELLO.”

“Hello.”

“did ya have fun?” Sans interjected, both unsure of how long the hello’s would continue for and unwilling to find out.

Papyrus nodded, happy to have had so many people looking at him for such a long period of time.

“Are you… Upset you didn’t get the part?”

Papyrus mulled on it, before shaking his head. He looked at Gaster’s bruises, and his shut eye. Gaster set to soothing him at once.

“Don’t fret, my darling boy. Papa was just receiving one of his therapeutic beatings at the hands of the other parents. Nothing to be upset about.”

Papyrus was giddy, despite not knowing what most of those words meant.

“CAN I HAVE A THERA--?”

“ _No._ ”

“OH. PAPA?”

“Yes, child?”

“CAN I HAVE MARSHMALLOWS FOR DINNER?”

Sans and Gaster spoke at once.

“Yes.”

“no.”

“THANK YOU, DADS.”

Thudding off the couch, Papyrus set off the the kitchen to fetch his meal. Sans watched him go while Gaster returned to nursing his battered face.

“he’s gotta eat healthy or he’ll get… scoliosis, or somethin’.”

“Oh nonsense. It’s not like he has flesh, his spine is right there. If it bends we could just snap it back harmlessly.”

“that’s… that’s probably not how it works.”

“I’m not too sure; I have enviable upper-arm strength.”

A silence dangled between them both, warm but ragged at the edges. Uneasy, and not.

“gaster?”

“Yes, son?”

“... what can you tell me about ma?”

Oh. Gaster cleared his throat.

“Short. Smart, very smart. Though not as much as I had first assumed; she left you behind, after all. Heavy set. Lovely hair, thick, red hair--”

Gaster trailed off. Squinting.

“... she had hair?”

“ _Wait._ Wait, no, that was someone else. That was-- no, I’m certain, that was absolutely a different woman.”

Sans grew visibly frustrated.

“well… what can you tell me about my ma?”

“The basket she left you in comes in very handy.”

Sans pinched his nasal bone.

“what about pap’s?”

“Very cheap. She didn’t even leave him in a basket. Who leaves an infant on concrete?”

“ _who has two babies left on their doorstep._ ”

“Someone that is very wealthy, can’t handle his drink, and has a weakness for--”

Gaster cut himself off, remembering the company, and coughed bashfully.

“... Friendship.”

Sans flopped back on the couch, eyes settling on the rerun of that sitcom he didn’t even like while Gaster rolled his loose teeth with his tongue, hissing in pain and tasting fresh blood.

“could be worse,” Sans said.

“It could. I endeavour to make sure it isn’t.”

“nice house, cute little bro, all the money on the hobbies, the tutors…

Sans could hear the rustle of the plastic marshmallow bag in the kitchen, as well as Papyrus’ noises of contentment.

“you clearly love us.”

“To death.”

“i rag on you a lot, but you aren’t doing a bad job, papa. with us. total shitshow with other people.”

Gaster coughed, clenching his fist to his mouth. Sans smiled wryly.

“thought you said you weren’t gonna cry.”

“You-- just-- shut up and go to your room.”


End file.
